The Return of the Firecracker

I have been informed that my refusal to be ‘fun’ and ‘cool’ and go out has incurred the wrath of the Mexican firecracker. But I’m just a fucking lazy bitch what else can I say? Its a phase. [not going out] I’ll get over it. [we can only wait and see]

So I went to the pub for a drink with her after ages and ages and ages [a week], to chit and chat and have girly girly discussions.

One might assume that a tiny little girl wearing a pastel pink scarf, polka dotted skirt, flower patterned shoes with a pink bow on the top of her head would be soft and sweet and fluffy, just like a little kitten.

You’d see here there, delicately sipping her pint, smiling sweetly and you might think “Aw isn’t that cute? It’s a little pink bow! On the top of her head! How adorable! Awwwww…”

And you would be so wrong.

Flames would shoot out of her eyes and blazing torpedoes fly out of her mouth should you ever DARE displease the Pink Princess. God help you then. [ESPECIALLY if you disparage Mexico in any way AT ALL]

One classmate in particular [the poor bastard] bore the brunt of her bile for the better part of 20 minutes while she abused him, his work, his music, his taste, his personality, in short everything about him, in him and on him.

After 3 pints with her Chris and Ernesto, a Mexican poet/writer/and fellow comic appreciator, [i.e a geek like me] and many semi-political arguments about living in Mexico vs London vs Bombay, she turns to me and says “Jaaa-neeen” [I love the way she stretches out my name]

“Jaaa-neeen, tell me something, do you ever download this kind of, oh I dunno, you know.. machine porn and masturbate?”

Ernesto had left by this time.

I knew that shortly after this conversation [any more of which I shall not disclose] it was time to head for home. As a rule of thumb when you start have casual discussions about masturbation in a crowded pub, with poor Chris trying to avoid any kind of involvement, its definitely time you went home and had some dinner.

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